The Phone Will Ring
by brainy-brownie123
Summary: Bellamy is grading papers at two in the morning when he gets a call from an unknown number. -He waited for a reply but there was only static on the other end. "Hello?" he tried again. "-ellamy," the voice cut in and then he heard another whoosh of static. "Clarke?" -
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** not a Roman history expert... also don't own The 100

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"Ugggg," Bellamy groaned holding his head in his hands. He was sitting crisscross on his bed, elbows pressing into his knees as he leaned forward to squint at the large book in front of him. Being an ancient history professor was one thing, but being the teaching assistant who had to read and grade one hundred essays was another.

The paper that he was currently grading had him bewildered. Whatever the person's name - he only knew them as "student id number 1293500" – they were making quite a large claim based on some very arguable facts. Joe Schmo proudly asserted that Caligula, an emperor during the Julio- Claudian dynasty, had his favorite horse Incitatus made a consul member!

Bellamy snorted and rolled his eyes, but as he glanced at the footnotes of the paper, he saw that the writer had a source to prove his claim. So, wanting to see for himself if this absurd moment in history actually happened, Bellamy went over to his bookshelf and searched for a volume of Cassius Dio's history.

He flopped back down amongst the scattered essays on his bed and flipped through the book to find some unlikely evidence. However, many scholars had agreed that there appeared to be no corruption in the text; Dio's writing was accompanied by a set of personal circumstances that allowed him to observe significant events of the Empire, or had direct contact with the key figures who were involved. Bellamy had to agree that Caligula was kind of a nut job, but accounts of history were notorious for being inaccurate - slanted by one-sided stories of a controversial nature.

So there he was searching tirelessly through the book to find even a single mention of Incitatus, disregarding the other forty-seven essays that he still had to grade, and despite the fact that by now it was close to two in the morning.

"What?!" he scoffed, re-reading the last sentence with disbelief. It was there, in the text! Well, Bellamy had to hand it to "number 1293500," they had an appropriate source for the information. _It's not over yet though_ , he thought. He grinned, pounded his fist in the air and declared, "to the internet!"

A few clicks later, he found a reasonable explanation to defend crazy Caligula. In regards to making the horse a consul member, only two writers, Suetonius and Dio Cassius, mentioned it as fact. Both of them had reason to be politically motivated and they also came much later in history to have observed it in person. Bellamy figured that the most likely scenario was that Caligula said it to imply that a horse could do a senator's job, and this remark was taken literally by those two chroniclers. _Alright_ , he smirked and wrote some notes about his theory in the margins of the essay, then scrawled a B- on the top.

He had just started reading another paper when his phone trilled. He frowned, wondering who would be calling him after midnight, and reached over to grab his phone from the nightstand. There wasn't a caller ID, but the area code was local so he pressed send.

"Hello," he answered.

He waited for a reply but there was only static on the other end.

"Hello?" he tried again.

"-ellamy," the voice cut in and then he heard another whoosh of static.

"Clarke?" his brow furrowed, wondering why she was calling from an unknown number.

"Bellamy," she whimpered. Bellamy's whole chest tensed up and then his heart started pounding frantically.

"Clarke, what's wrong?" he spoke louder into the phone.

"I-," her voice caught in her throat.

He was painfully waiting for her to resume her speech, but all he heard was a loud sniffle. His stomach dropped when he realized she was crying. The hand that wasn't holding his phone clenched into a tight fist and he pressed his nails into his palm, trying to focus on the pain to remain calm; he was useless to Clarke if he started freaking out.

"I…," she sniffled again, "I…need…"

"Clarke, you need to take a deep breath, okay?" he said slowly and evenly into the phone. He heard a shaky sigh and then a few seconds later heard a huff followed by a quick and jagged inhale.

"I can't," she cried angrily.

"I'm gonna count to five while you inhale and then you exhale until I get to ten, ready?"

He heard a high pitched whimper.

"One," he thought he heard a dry, dragging breath in.

"Two...three...four...five," he paused.

"Exhale...six," he heard a slow breath out, "seven...eight..."

"Nine...ten," he waited.

"I need you to come get me," her voice lilted and quivered.

"Where are you?" he asked desperately.

"…jail," she cried.

"What?!" he choked out.

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 **AN:** Too be continued...

Reviews are greatly appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for waiting patiently for the update. May I please point out that chapter 2's word count is more than 2x chapter 1's.

Disclaimer: I have not been to jail, but this story is loosely based on true events.

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"What?!" he repeated softly, speaking more to himself than to Clarke.

He heard another sniffle through the phone.

"Clarke, whatever it is it's all going to be fine. Okay? I'm on my way, just hold on."

"Ok," she whispered. And then he heard static before the phone hung up and then all he heard was the droning dial tone.

 _Jail?!_ he thought, grabbing his keys and jacket, _what the hell is going on?_ Just as he reached the door he froze and realized he didn't even know where the jail was.

He left his apartment and searched on google maps for the police station while he waited for the elevator. _Here we are_ , he grinned, the nearest station was on Middlebrook Dr; his lips twisted into a grimace as he wondered about the circumstances that would lead to _Clarke_ getting arrested. He tapped his foot impatiently as he saw the down arrow light up, waiting for the doors to slide open. He tried not to speculate on the situation, knowing that as soon as he got Clarke home she would tell him the story. He already knew he was going to be mad, he just wasn't sure if it would be at Clarke or at someone else. He did spend some time wracking his brain for the last time he saw her, the last text he had received from her, anything that would give him a clue to where she was, and what she was doing, prior to calling him from jail. He raked his hand through his hair feeling tense and jittery, fighting against the tiredness that spread through his muscles and deadened his nerves when he realized how late it was. Finally arriving in the underground parking garage, Bellamy sprinted over to his Jeep Wrangler and wrenched the battered door open, jammed the key in the ignition, and yanked the car into reverse.

There were quite a few cars on the road for three in the morning. Luckily, Bellamy caught all the green lights, a few were yellow though, and he might have sped through the intersection instead of slowing. He finally got to the station and parked outside. He took a deep breath and went to the front door, chin high, shoulders back, confident. He made it all the way to the front desk before he released a breath, his shoulders sagging, unsure of what to do exactly.

"Uh…hello," he said to the woman sitting behind the desk. She continued to look at her computer, typing slowly on the keyboard, the clacking sound of the keys punctuating the silence. She turned her head to look at him warily.

"I'm here for Clarke Griffin," he said.

She turned her head back to the computer and started typing again. Bellamy waited.

"Clarke Griffin charged with simple assault," she said slowly and simply; Bellamy's lips parted and his eyes widened, shocked at what he was hearing but not really understanding. Clarke…assault? Those words don't go together! They should never go together, so how did they end up being said in the same sentence?! "Bail is five hundred dollars," she continued.

Bellamy scrubbed his hand down his face, trying to stay alert and present. He pinched between his eyes and exhaled a shaky breath.

"Do you take credit cards?" he asked, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet.

"We do not accept credit cards or personal checks," she stated, reciting the words that she said every day, many times, "Cash, cashier's checks or money orders are the only accepted methods of payment."

There was no way he had five hundred dollars' worth of cash in his wallet, he'd be lucky to find a twenty in there. He frowned and furrowed his brow wondering where he could get money in the middle of the night. "I'll be right back," he grumbled, heading for the door.

He unlocked his car and opened the passenger door, reaching to pop the glove box open. He began rummaging through stacks of receipts, expired car insurance documents, and outdated maps of the contiguous United States. He found the car's manual shoved in the back and flipped through the pages. _Yes_ , he practically melted with relief. There was money hidden between pages that explained the breaking system. He shuffled through the wad of cash and prayed it was enough to get Clarke out of there.

It added up to six hundred and forty-two bucks. He'd had that emergency cash stashed back there for years, thankfully he'd never had to use it before.

"Okay," he strode through the door and up to the counter. "Here," he said laying the money down in front of him. The woman continued typing.

Eventually she turned to him and reached for a clipboard. "Fill this out," she recited, "front and back. I'll get your receipt."

He fell into a seat and tried to fill out the form, but he didn't know that much of the information it was asking for. He went back to the desk and traded the clipboard for his receipt.

"If the arrestee does not appear in court for trial on the assigned date, the money will be forfeited," the woman droned on, "if the verdict is rendered not guilty, or the case is dismissed, or at the conclusion of the trial proceedings, bond money will be refunded minus any fines and/or court costs." Bellamy tried to pay attention, but his mind was so muddled by the events of the past hour that it couldn't absorb any more information. So he just sank back into the chair and waited, feeling heavy and numb.

Just as he was about to lean his head against the wall and close his eyes, he noticed movement in the hallway across the room. Two figures appeared from the corner, slowly their images came into focus as they came closer. On the left was a tall and wide officer, in dark blue pants and a lighter shirt, a badge, and a walkie-talkie from what he could see. No gun. And on the right was Clarke.

He sprang out of the seat and walked closer to the hall's entrance. His whole body flooded with relief when he saw her, now having her in his sight and knowing exactly where she was. But when she and the officer stepped forward, into the light, and he got a closer look at her, his heart seized up and his pulse quickened.

She took small, hesitant steps, three of her uneven strides matching one solid and mechanical step of the officer's. She was wearing a plain tank top and faded jeans, no shoes. _She must be cold_ , the thought entered his mind automatically, it was simply a reflex for him to care about her wellbeing.

Her face was the most alarming, her lip was split and dried blood was smeared across her cheek and chin. Her right eye was purple and blue. She wouldn't meet his gaze, but he looked at her eyes, and they looked scared, and hollow, void of their usual spark. His breath caught in his throat and he felt the dull pain in his chest magnify. All his attention was focused on Clarke and the fact that she was hurt.

"Clarke!" he urged her to look up and acknowledge his presence, or give him any clue as to what was happening, and if she was alright. She looked up and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, he furrowed his eyebrows and looked at her desperately, trying to express his concern. She lowered her eyes and ever so slightly shook her head. He bit his tongue in frustration and clenched his hands feeling the muscles in his arms tense.

Clarke silently followed behind the officer, coming to a halt in front of the counter. The woman at the desk wordlessly handed the policeman a clipboard, and he scrawled across the form and then passed it to Clarke to sign at the bottom. Another officer came out of the door behind the desk, carrying a large, clear plastic bag.

"Alright Ms. Griffin," the officer stated, opening the zip-top and placing the items inside on the counter in front of him, "one pair of shoes, one cellphone, one driver's license."

She reached for her things and hugged them close to her chest. The officer pulled out another form and asked her to sign, confirming she received everything she came in with.

"Remember you must appear in court for your trial on the eighth or your bond will be forfeited," the officer said handing her another form to sign. Then he disappeared through the door behind the desk.

"Ok Ms. Griffin, you're good to go," the woman at the desk said, with a slightly less robotic voice, and a tiny smile forming at the corners of her mouth.

"Ok," Clarke replied in a small voice. She turned towards the door and took a step forward. The remaining officer cleared his throat to get her attention.

"Ms. Griffin, we're required to escort you out the door," the officer said. She looked away and nodded, bowing her head, her hair falling to shield her face. The officer turned to face Bellamy, so he straightened up and tried to focus despite all the confusion clouding his mind. "I gather you're here for Ms. Griffin?" he asked.

"Uhh…yes," he answered.

"Let's go," the officer grunted and walked towards the door, holding it open for them. Clarke followed slowly and Bellamy came up behind her. The officer walked up to the Jeep, so Bellamy reached into his pocket and pressed the button to unlock the doors. The man opened the passenger door for Clarke and Bellamy walked round and got in the driver's seat and started up the engine. He backed up and turned to exit the lot onto Middlebrook Drive, he looked into the rearview mirror and saw the officer walk back inside the building. Clarke remained silent, clutching her shoes like she was drowning and they were her lifesaver.

He drove for a few miles and slowed as they approached the red light at the intersection. He took a deep breath and turned to face her, "Clarke-"

She held a hand up, cutting him off. "Don't," she choked out, her jaw tense.

The light turned green before he could protest further and they drove on in silence. He tried to take a deep breath and clear his mind, but it was filled with the image of Clarke's beaten and bruised face. Then he remembered the sound of her voice when she called him crying. His blurred and unfocused vision reminded him that it was four in the morning. Most of what he felt was concern for Clarke, but knowing she was upset made him feel angry and he itched to retaliate against whatever had upset her and put her in danger, and harmed her. He still wasn't sure who or what he should be mad at and it might even be Clarke herself. He tries to stop the thought from entering his mind, but it's the middle of the night, he's driven up to get her, paid _five hundred dollars_ to get her out of jail, and she won't let him say anything.

Clarke must have noticed his hardened expression because she sighed and muttered slowly, "I will explain… I just… can't right now."

He softened and reached over to place his hand on her knee. "Alright," he said, trying to sound soothing.

"Umm," she hiccupped and her voice wavered, "I don't have my keys….I think… I lost them. Can-"

This time he was the one to cut her off, "of course Princess, you can stay with me." He squeezed her knee trying to reassure her.

She sniffed and reached up to wipe under her eyes. "Can I use your shower?" she sounded uncertain.

"Yes," he answered simply.

"Can I borrow some clothes?" He could imagine that she desperately wanted to get out of the ones she wore in jail.

"Yes."

"Will you make me breakfast?"

"You're pushing your luck, Princess, but I'll see what I can do." He turned just in time to catch her faint smile.

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Thanks again for waiting for the update. I really love reviews and reading your feedback. I hope you like the direction the story is going in.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you again for your patience, I really hope you like the next chapter.

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They got to his apartment building and he held the door open for her; she remained silent. He wondered if she was purposefully avoiding eye contact with him, or if she was unresponsive because of the circumstances. He noticed that Clarke continued to walk like she had done at the police station; small, hesitant steps, not making a sound because she was still barefoot; clutching her possessions to her chest like someone was going to take them from her. He tried to shorten his stride in order to walk next to her, but she managed to always stay a step behind him, head down, eyes tired and empty.

The elevator dinged as it reached his floor and she followed him out, turning left as he led her to his door. He heard a sudden whoosh of breath, and turned to catch Clarke yawning. He reached over to her and placed his hand on her back, between her shoulder blades, rubbing slightly back and forth in comfort.

"Come on," he said gently, opening his door and ushering her inside. She waited while he flipped the bolt lock, and as Bellamy started down the hallway to the bathroom, Clarke ghosted behind. He got the shower running for her, shaking the cold spray of water droplets from his hand and turned to find her waiting in the doorway. "I'll get you some clothes," he mumbled as he swept past her, heading for his bedroom.

He went to his closet with the intent to get clothes, like he usually did, but suddenly found himself at a loss. Bellamy wavered, glancing around at the shirts, pants, and jackets- hanging on an assortment of plastic and metal hangers- all wedged together on the rack. He frowned and thought, _what do girls wear?_

Bellamy crouched down, balancing his weight on the balls of his feet, and pulled a random drawer open. He rummaged around, destroying stacks of moderately well-folded shirts, looking to see if something of Octavia's was shoved to the back and forgotten. He couldn't manage to find anything of O's, but he did find a pair of his old sweatpants. He checked that the drawstring was still intact so she could tighten them at the waist and thought, _pants: check, shirt:…_

He stood up, turned around, and reached out to grab a random t-shirt, yanking it off the hanger. He left his closet and started for the door, but then he glanced at his bed and ceased his footsteps. Bellamy didn't remember anything that had happened that night before Clarke's unexpected phone call, but looking at the papers scattered across his bed and strewn on the floor, he gathered that he was grading essays and probably still had many more to mark up. He sighed and started stacking up the papers, placing them on his desk. He straightened out his bed and placed his Dio volume back on the bookshelf.

He went into the hallway and approached the bathroom door; finding it closed he again found himself at a loss of what to do. _Come on Bellamy_ , he thought, _you can't be nervous in your own home for fuck's sake_.

"Clarke?" he called over the sound of the streaming shower, "I've got your change of clothes."

He waited, but there wasn't a response. _Well, what am I supposed to do now?_ he thought.

"I'm opening the door," he warned. He slowly twisted the handle and ever so slightly cracked the door open. The counter with the sink was to the right, so he slid the clothes through the crack in the door and placed them on the edge. When he pulled the door shut and heard the knob click in place he felt a small sense of relief. _Alright_ , he thought, _on to the princess's next request, breakfast._

His bare feet padded across the floor as he made his way to the kitchen. He went to the fridge to scavenge through his scant collection of groceries for something suitable for breakfast. He was surprised to find the remains of a loaf of bread, a few eggs, milk, and maple syrup. He hunted the pantry for vanilla and cinnamon, and of course they had to be hidden behind all the other spice jars. The disorderly arrangement of his pantry had never, not even once, been on his side.

Bellamy had the ingredients mixed and was just dipping the bread slices when he heard the bathroom door open. He placed a slice of bread, saturated with a liquid mixture of eggs, vanilla, cinnamon, and milk, onto the skillet and heard the satisfying hiss of what was soon to be a most delicious breakfast, as long as he didn't screw it up.

"Mmm," he heard a faint hum of approval from somewhere behind him, "smells good." He certainly agreed with her, the scent of vanilla mixed with cinnamon was the perfect blend of sweet and spicy.

He turned from his position in front of the stove and saw Clarke walking past the couch, towards him. She was wearing his old DC Academy shirt and her damp hair had made a dark, wet patch on either shoulder. He looked down to see his sweatpants looking awfully baggy on her smaller frame; they were rolled around her ankles and as he looked at her bare feet he wondered if he should get her some socks so they didn't get cold. Her face looked a bit brighter than it had at the station, and her lip didn't seem as bad now that the smear of blood had been washed off her face, but he still winced when he looked at her black eye. She stopped when she noticed that he was watching her; he waited patiently hoping she would lift her chin and meet his concerned gaze. As soon as he was about to turn back to his cooking, she lifted her eyes to meet his and in a small voice asked, "what's for breakfast?"

"French toast!" he announced, trying to sound cheerful as he threw another slice on the simmering skillet. Turning his attention back to the stove, he watched her out of the corner of his eye. She shuffled up to the kitchen bar and wedged herself into a seat, elbows on the counter so she could rest her chin in her hands. He checked on the bread and flipped the slices over. Then, Bellamy picked up the mixing bowl, measuring cup, and other miscelanious utensils, throwing them in the sink. He moved over to Clarke and she looked up when she noticed him approaching.

"Do you want anything?" he asked, "water…juice…"

"Water's fine," she said, briefly meeting his eyes and then darting away.

He went back to the fridge and gave a flat chuckle as he glanced at the few items remaining in his fridge. It was a good thing she didn't say juice because he didn't have any.

He placed a glass of water in front of her and went back to the stove. Deciding that the bread was done he grabbed a couple of plates and used the spatula to transfer the toast from the skillet to the plates. He went to the kitchen bar and set the plates down, sliding one across the counter to be in front of Clarke. He quickly left and came back with the maple syrup, plopping the bottle beside her.

"Fork," he said, holding the utensil out for her to take. She reached her hand out and tentatively took the fork, careful not to brush her hand with his.

She started slowly on the toast, carefully cutting off a square from the corner and daintily bringing it to her mouth. But after tasting the sweet, spongy perfection of well-made French toast, she dug in. She must have been hungry and Bellamy suspected that she hadn't had dinner yesterday, probably skipping lunch too.

Watching her eat, cutting the bread with the knife in her right hand, he thought he noticed something on her wrist. His brow furrowed as he squinted and slightly leaned his head forward.

"What happened to your arm?" he asked lowly, pressing for her to answer without yelling at her. Raising his voice never worked, she would shut down immediately and scream at him that he wasn't responsible for her, that he didn't have the right to demand information from her.

"Nothing," she mumbled, looking down at her plate.

He scoffed in disbelief and before she could blink he snatched her hand and pulled her arm across the counter. The knife clattered against the plate and he heard her suck in a quick breath. He watched her face as her eyebrows scrunched together and she bit her lip to quiet her wince. Looking down at her arm, he studied the blue and yellow patch of skin on her wrist. Bellamy turned her hand over to expose her inner arm and his throat closed when he saw the dark, blue and purple bruises encircling her wrist in the shape of fingers. As he stared at it his face hardened, his eyebrows knit together, and his frown turned into a scowl.

"Then what is _this_ , Clarke?" he seethed. He held her hand gently in his and ran a finger lightly over the line of bruises.

Clarke took a deep breath and waited a moment before answering, "I said I would tell you."

"When?" he asked and pressed down on a spot on her wrist. She winced and twisted her hand out of his hold, hiding it under the counter.

"When I figure out what to say."

"Just tell me what happened last night," he insisted harshly, feeling his frustration rising.

"I don't know how to explain."

"What do you mean how? You don't know how you got arrested for assault? How you got those bruises? You don't know how to explain your busted lip and black eye-"

"How I lost control!" she burst out, "I don't know how to explain how I lost control." Her voice caught in her throat and he somberly watched a tear form in her eye and fall down her cheek. She reached up with her uninjured hand to quickly swipe the angry tear away.

Suddenly he got it. He might not know the details of the events of last night that ended with Clarke in jail, but he could guess that she watched the situation around her slip out of her grasp and she got blindsided as she tried to find something to hold on to.

"Okay," he said softly, stepping down. He grabbed her plate stacking it on top of his and dropping them in the sink, he'd try and wash them tomorrow…or later in the day- technically speaking since it was past midnight- but they'd probably still be in the sink for the rest of the weekend. He turned around and faced her, weight shifting from one foot to the other, not knowing what to say. He ran a hand through his hair and stretched his shoulders, trying to relieve the tension caused by the weight of the day pressing down on him. He cleared his throat, and tentatively said, "You should get some sleep, you've got the bedroom, I'll take the couch."

"Bell-" she started.

"Nope," he cut her off. He pointed to Clarke, "you." He moved his hand to point down the hall, "bedroom. I'm not getting into an argument over something so petty at five in the morning." Which _was_ true; he was tired and as much as he would love to get Clarke all riled up, he would rather get some sleep. But the main reason he wanted Clarke in the bedroom and himself on the couch is so that she couldn't sneak out. It was wrong of Bellamy to think so lowly of Clarke, but once the thought entered his mind, he couldn't get rid of it. And as the overprotective brother he was known to be, he feared she was in trouble and wouldn't ask for his help unless he intervened.

She huffed and rolled her eyes as she stood up from the bar stool, but she walked down the hall as told. Bellamy followed a few steps behind her and when she looked over her shoulder and raised her brow in question, he explained, "I'm gonna grab some clothes."

She walked through the doorway and he moved past her to get to his closet again. He grabbed his one pair of pajama pants that he hardly wore, and a random shirt. Turning around, he froze seeing Clarke laying in his bed, but he quickly recovered and walked forward, frowning at her. She was laying down, but she was not _in_ the bed, rather she was _on_ the bed, laying stiffly on top of the duvet.

He came and stood right beside her, "Come on Princess, get comfy." He tugged at the corner of the duvet, not budging under her weight. "Under the covers!" he encouraged, grabbing under her shoulder and thigh, rolling her to the middle of the bed. She grumbled, words muffled by the bedding, but he could tell by the upturned corner of her mouth that she was trying to repress a grin. He pulled back the covers and she crawled under, laying on her side facing him. He reached over her to grab the pillow from the other side of the bed and snatched the folded throw blanket from the end.

"Goodnight," He spoke in a low voice. He turned and walked to the door with the pillow and his clothes in one hand, and his blanket dragging behind him in the other.

"Bellamy," he heard a faint whisper from behind him when he reached the doorway.

"Yes, Princess?" he said over his shoulder, feigning a whisper.

"Wait," she spoke short and soft, barely moving her lips to articulate the words. He turned around to face her and raised his eyebrows, waiting. Five heartbeats later she said, "Come here."

He trudged towards her, feeling weariness seeping into his bones and getting tired of her vague remarks.

"Will you hold my hand?" She spoke so fast that he had to take a second to put spaces between the words and figure out what she had said. She noticed his hesitation and continued quickly, "just until I fall asleep."

He sighed and his heart melted, the same way it did when Octavia was younger and looked to him to comfort and protect her.

"Yep," he sighed, giving in to her request immediately, as dedicated to her as he was Octavia. He sank down beside her, sitting crisscross on the floor. He watched her stretch her arm out and sink her hand down towards him. He reached his hand to meet hers and grasped it gently. Instinctively, his thumb ghosted back and forth over her knuckles.

"Goodnight," he whispered. He heard her sigh and turned to see that her eyes were closed. He twisted his other arm to reach up and turn off the lamp on the bedside table. He leaned back against it, feeling the knob of a drawer press uncomfortably on his back. His eyes still open, he studied the shapes and shadows that the darkness had cast across his room. He sat quietly, listening to the Princess' breathing and waiting for it to even.

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Thanks for reading, I'm pretty proud of this chapter so I really hope you liked it. Please leave a review, any kind of feedback is appreciated and encouraging.

***for whatever reason the website says I have 10 reviews, but when I click to read them it only shows 5. I have tried every which way to see the reviews, so I am terribly sorry if I missed yours. I will email FF but if anyone has had this problem please PM me. Thanks***


	4. Chapter 4

**AN:** Thank you for waiting, this story is not on the back burner, however the other things piled on the back burner were starting to burn. And what happens is...

When a fire starts to burn, right, and it starts to spread

She gonna bring that attitude home

If you got that reference you are a star, and if you can name the episode name and number you are a superstar. (answer at the bottom)

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It might have only been a minute, but to Bellamy it felt like an hour had passed. Sitting crisscross, his left foot was the first one to fall asleep- so he stretched his leg out and flexed as the pins and needles tortured his toes. Until he shifted, he had forgotten about the knob pressing into his back from the bedside table he was leaning against, but now he felt it painfully digging into his shoulder blade. The next body part to go was his arm, the one that was reaching up so his hand could hold onto Clarke's as she slept on his bed. He had never noticed just how rough and calloused his hands were until he was holding Clarke's, which were soft like velvet, and refined- the kind of hands capable of doing the delicate work of an artist, or surgeon.

Once his bicep started spasming from holding his arm up for so long, he slid his foot towards him, bending his leg so his elbow could rest against his knee. So now his stinging, prickling foot was supporting the weight of his ankle, calf, knee, bicep, elbow, forearm, wrist, and hand… and Clarke's hand, but that weight was a lot easier to bare. Then, a few moments later, his neck tightened and tensed, giving up on supporting his head; so he leaned to the left and rested his head on the side of the mattress. He sat, silent and still, and listened to Clarke's gentle inhale and exhale, trying to sync his breath with hers.

He waited… and waited, but the longer he waited, the more he was willing to trust his instincts. It started as a feeling, almost like a sixth sense, that came from somewhere in his chest, and as it grew it sparked through his nervous system, reaching his brain where it turned into a thought- one that he held onto for as long as possible until he was itching to voice it.

"You're not asleep, are you?" he whispered into the dark.

"No," she sighed and groaned loudly.

"Do you want me to go?"

"No," she answered softly.

"Princess, I'll stay but I can't sit on the floor anymore," He stood up and twisted his back and neck, feeling relief as the joints popped. In the dark bedroom, he heard the sheets rustle beside him, and he didn't need to see to know that Clarke had flinched.

"I hate that sound," she grumbled into her pillow.

"Well, if you didn't take so damn long to fall asleep you wouldn't have to hear it," He chided as he walked carefully through the darkness, treading around the bed to the other side. He pulled back the sheets unceremoniously and slid in the bed. He leaned his head back and was confused when it fell further than he had anticipated, hitting the mattress beneath him. Then he remembered he had taken a pillow, and a throw blanket, to use on his makeshift bed for the night – the couch. Before he could think to ask Clarke to grab it off the floor for him, he felt a large, downy mass hit him square in the face.

"No funny business," she mumbled, rolling onto her other side to face Bellamy.

"Hey," he protested gently, "I'm not the one trying to start a war over here." He settled down on his side, facing Clarke, and slid an arm under the pillow to prop his head up. He gazed through the darkness to see Clarke's hair fanned around her on the pillow; he couldn't meet her gaze because her eyes were focused lower, and he realized what it was when she moved her hand, sliding her palm across the satin sheet towards him. He met her halfway; she wrapped her small hand around his thumb, and he covered the back of her hand with his fingers. He heard her sigh as she took a deep breath.

"So… I told you I would explain," she said softly and slowly.

"Mmmhmm," he hummed gently.

"You're not gonna like it," she warned.

"Nope," he agreed with a sigh, "Probably not."

And so she began, "Finn and I were at the bar, and we both had way more drinks than we should've. I remember Finn looking at something over my shoulder… and he said, 'Clarke, I am so sorry.' And I had no clue what he was apologizing for… but shortly after he said that a woman came up to us and I put two and two together."

"Everything that happened after that is a blur. I don't know how I left the bar, but I'm pretty sure I drove there after work; and I didn't know there were cops involved until I felt the handcuffs around my wrists."

She paused and took a deep breath, "So this woman came up to us… she was tall, had dark hair… I think she was wearing a red dress. When he saw her, Finn looked upset and asked her what she was doing here. And she answered, 'Well you'd know if you'd bothered to return any one of my phone calls.' It seemed like she was flirting with him. Then, she turned to me and said, 'Hi, I'm Raven Collins.'"

" _Collins_?" Bellamy burst out incredulously.

Clarke shot him an irritated look which he interpreted to mean _don't interrupt_.

"That's what _I_ said," she continued, "and Raven looked me up and down, cocked her head to the side, and said, 'And you must be the woman who's been screwing my husband.'"

" _Husband_?"

" _Bellamy_!" she chastised him.

"Sorry, sorry," he conceded, squeezing her hand lightly, "no talking 'til you're done."

She took a breath and the corners of her lips formed a tiny frown, "This is the part where my memory gets really hazy, I don't remember what I was thinking at the moment, but I can remember the feeling – like I had been hit by a truck and had the wind knocked out of me. Suddenly this weight was pressing on my chest and I couldn't get any air to my lungs. It was like a bomb had just gone off and although there was chaos surrounding me, all I could hear was a sharp ringing sound, and the dull thud of my heartbeat. And everything around me just stopped, and all I could see was this woman, Finn's _wife_ , standing in front of me; the rest of the people in the bar were just a blur of color and motion."

"And like this woman was a predator gazing menacingly at its prey, my pulse started racing as my mind scrambled between fight or flight mode. I quickly decided on getting the hell out of there and started wracking my brain for excuses to leave; I said I had to go to the bathroom, so I raced to the back of the bar, burst through the door. I was lightheaded and dizzy, and drunk… probably three drinks past drunk… and I went up to the mirror, but I couldn't see myself. It was like looking into a funhouse mirror – everything was distorted and my eyes couldn't focus on my face."

"And then someone else burst through the door, and of course it had to be…"

"Raven," he answered.

"It had to be Raven," she frowned.

"She was shouting and she was furious. Every other word was a curse, let's see… tramp… filthy whore… worthless slut, those were a few. She insulted me… blamed me… threatened me…"

"She noticed my necklace with the deer charm – the one Finn gave me when we went on vacation. She said, 'Just in case you thought you were special, he got me one too,' she untucked a necklace from her shirt and revealed a sterling silver raven charm, 'Why don't you stay away from Finn and go find someone else's husband to fuck?' And then she stormed out."

"That _bitch_ ," Bellamy seethed, mind on fire and muscles tensing.

"Bellamy, I didn't know about her at all," she defended herself in a low, clear voice.

"I know you didn't, Clarke," he assured her, holding her hand tighter, "I wouldn't doubt you for a second."

She smiled weakly and continued, "So then I locked myself in a stall and sat mindlessly on the toilet. I was still but I felt I was swinging. I felt weighted and completely off kilter, like the only balance I had was the toilet and if I leaned to the side just a bit too much I would fall over. And there I was, in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet with my pants still on, the most pathetic girl in the bar. And the longer I sat there, the more the fog in my mind cleared and turned to anger.

"How could he do that?" she looked up at Bellamy, "He lied to me! He made me into the other woman! It would have been better for him to cheat on me, at least then I would be the victim and not the mistress!"

So I went back to the bar, ready to yell some choice words to both of them, but they weren't there. All that remained on the counter was my empty martini glass and discarded toothpick and a half empty pint of beer – the condensation on the glass trickling down to soak the cardboard coaster. And then I did something stupid."

* * *

 **AN:** Thanks for following this story I hope you're enjoying it. The only way I know which parts you like and which direction to take is by reading reviews, so please let me know your opinion. I've received some very lovely comments - thank you!

I must credit Grey's Anatomy for a part of this chapter.

* * *

(answer)

When a Fire Starts to Burn by Disclosure

s1ep6 "His Sister's Keeper"


	5. Chapter 5

**AN:** Happy Friday! Thanks for waiting and keeping up with the story, I am really glad (and lucky) to have dedicated readers - thank you!

* * *

Clarke paused and readjusted her position under the covers, moving their joined hands further up the mattress to rest between their faces. She took a big sigh and continued, "I ordered another shot… maybe two. All my drunken giddiness had shattered the moment Raven appeared, but after the initial heartbreak, it was like the fractured shards of my heart had resurrected into a storm of fury. My mind must have checked out because the next thing I know, I'm standing outside Finn's apartment and banging on the flimsy door. I was running scenarios through my head, imagining what I'd do when Finn answered, so when the door opened and I saw him in reality, I didn't just think of punching him, I notched back my fist and socked him in the eye. I attacked him first, so I wasn't that surprised when he retaliated. I was absolutely furious, and he was too, probably already pissed at Raven and then I show up and hit him and then he's pissed at me too. So he grabs me by the wrist and yanks me inside, I remember that."

"And then… some shit went down, I don't know," she shrugged, "He hurt me and I wanted to show him just how much by hurting him back. Next thing I know I'm yanked back and I realize the cops are here. My arms were yanked behind my back and I felt the cuffs ratcheting around my wrists, getting tighter and more uncomfortable with every click. After that I tried to calm down to appear more level headed, but it was pretty useless. The police couldn't get a clear story from either of us. I realized who'd let the cops in when I turned and saw Murphy, Finn's rat-bastard roommate. I don't think he was the one who _called_ the cops though, he seemed a bit shady to me, like the kind of guy who you just _know_ is flying deviously under the radar. The police most likely came because the neighbors called about a noise complaint, but Murphy came sneaking out of his room after the cops threatened to break down the door. He just sat innocently on the couch and gave his statement, "I didn't see anything." We both got taken to the station, and I wasn't doing anything to help my case by drunkenly slurring in the back of the police car. I don't know what happened to Finn, they took us in separate vehicles and I only briefly saw him at the station. And that was how I got arrested."

She finished simply and evenly, but by her tone Bellamy gathered that she was tired and a bit indifferent towards the whole predicament.

He frowned and wondered, "how come you didn't just claim self-defense?"

"Because my dumb-ass drunken self couldn't think of that at the time… but I don't think they would've bought that explanation, because I was the one who threw the first punch… and because of the fact that he looked way worse than I did," she smiled.

Bellamy grinned proudly at her, "bad-ass princess."

Her smile weakened and she broke his gaze to look down at his hand, which was still covering hers.

"There was a bunch of paperwork and waiting around. I didn't fully register that I was being locked up until I was literally behind bars, and then I sobered up real fast. They took my shoes - shoelaces and heels can apparently be used as weapons. And then they put me in the cell and I just sat there and waited and waited. They told me I got one phone call, go figure, and I don't know what I would've done if I didn't know your number. And then I was afraid you wouldn't pick up, and then I heard your voice, and then I was scared to tell you what happened."

"Why?" he frowned

She closed her eyes and took a breath, "because you would be mad at me."

He sighed and shook his head, trying to assure her, "Clarke when you called I knew something was wrong, but I was running wild imagining the worst possible situation. I was scarred you were badly hurt; so yeah, the jail thing freaked me out but at least then I knew where you were and that you weren't in danger and at least relatively unscathed. To me jail is a better outcome than hospital."

He bent his chin down to meet her eyes, "Clarke, I might've been mad at you, but I was way more worried about you. I would've been _mad_ at you if you'd've got behind the wheel when you left the bar, or something like that. I'm _mad_ at Finn that he hit you and lied to you and I'm _mad_ at Raven for causing a scene and disrespecting the sweetest, purest person who would never be messing around with a married man. Clarke, you can always call me, okay? Even if it's something you think I'll be mad about; I'll come get you out of trouble and I'll be mad at you once I know you're ok. Okay?"

"Okay," she smiled softly and held his gaze for a quiet moment - it was the first time since he picked her up from the jail house that her eyes were calm and clear, no longer shifting with anxiety, appearing cloudy and distressed.

"Bellamy," she whispered.

"Yes, Princess?" he asked lightly, giving her and easy smile.

"Thanks for bailing me out of jail," she whispered, understating it playfully, like the kindness of receiving a "get out of jail free" card from him was the equivalent of… let's say, him getting her a cup of coffee.

"Any time," he answered deeply and honestly.

She pushed herself up and leaned towards him, and before he can register what's happening he feels her soft lips on his cheek, giving him a sweet kiss. Then she pulled back and settled into the mattress again.

"Goodnight," she sighed and squeezed his hand.

He was stunned silent for a few moments and the first thought to cross his mind was to ask her, "Are you still drunk?"

But she was already fast asleep. He tentatively reached out and smoothed her hair behind her ear, bringing his hand down to stroke her cheek.

"Night, Clarke," he sighed and closed his eyes.

* * *

He woke a few hours later, mind and limbs still heavy with fatigue. He stretched his legs and an arm, the other one being connected to the hand that was still holding onto Clarke's. Looking over, he saw that Clarke was still sound asleep, her nose pressed into the pillow and a tiny frown on the corners of her soft lips. He blinked and noticed that the sunlight trying to shine through the curtains was quite bright and figured that it was the afternoon by now, or at least midday, considering what time they fell asleep. He heard a soft sigh from Clarke and smiled lazily. He squeezed her hand and shifted under the sheets, getting comfortable before drifting back to sleep.

The next time he woke she wasn't there and his heart panged painfully in his chest upon realizing that he was alone. He flopped back on the bed and considered going back to sleep, but then he heard a clatter echo from down the hall and figured that it was Clarke tottering around the apartment somewhere. So he got up, stretched and groaned as his joints popped, and went outside to see what kind of mess Clarke had gotten into. His bare feet padded across the floor as he made his way towards Clarke, who he found in the kitchen leaning into the counter on her tiptoes, stretching her arm far above her head to try and get something from the cabinet. Her shirt might've ridden up, exposing the soft, pale skin of her lower back, he thought to himself, if she wasn't wearing one of his own, which fell far below her hips. He scolded himself for thinking something so sexual about a perfectly innocent action, and about _Clarke_. She was his sister's best friend, and even though he rejected the idea that it meant she was off limits, he still felt unsure about having feelings towards her. He cleared his throat, not wanting to startle her and she turned around, rolling back on her heals to her regular (which was less than average) height. She greeted him with a wide grin on her face, but it was quickly replaced by an accusatory glimmer.

" _Why_ do you put all the coffee cups on the top shelf?" she demanded.

"Because unlike you," he said, walking up to stand behind her, "I can actually reach them."

He anchored one hand on the counter, just slightly near her waist, and leaned forward, using his body to press hers into the counter. His hand took the majority of his weight so that he wouldn't be crushing her, but it was enough force to be suggestive and to ensure that she couldn't escape without sliding against him. He reached up with his other hand and easily grabbed a coffee cup, placing it down on the counter in front of her, then reached up again to grab one for himself. She taped her fingers on the counter impatiently and after a while he stepped back so she could move from his trap.

He heard water boiling and smelt the strong whiff of coffee in the air. "So, how long did it take you to figure out the coffee maker?" he teased.

"Not long," she fired back.

He sincerely doubted that, but he let it go with a nod. He would give her this round, it wasn't worth much to argue over. Besides, he was already ahead in the "call each other on our bullshit" game.

He went to the fridge, his brain on auto-pilot of his morning routine, and was jarred when he found it empty. _Oh that's right_ , he remembered; he usually went shopping Saturday morning, so now there was no food for breakfast… or rather lunch. He noticed a pathetic looking plastic roll that held the remainders of a loaf of bread. He perked up and grabbed it, unfurling the wrap to find that it was just the end pieces. He glared at the slices, wishing for a middle piece to suddenly appear and save him from starvation.

He held up the ends to show them to Clarke, "want some toast?"

"Sure," she said.

The toaster popped and he searched his pantry for any kind of spread. He didn't have butter, would _never_ have jam – eww, but low and behold he had a jar of peanut butter. Not only that but _four_ jars of peanut butter all at varying stages of being empty… or full, depending on how you want to look at it. Bellamy was a pessimist, not an optimist, so the glass would always be half empty. But he was also tenacious and would make do with what he had. He was reasonably happy, or at least believed there was no point in wasting time being bitter upon seeing that he could have more.

They sat down at the table and ate in silence. Clarke's golden hair was pulled back in a messy bun and she gazed down at her plate with tired eyes. It didn't take long for Bellamy to finish his toast, so he cleared his throat and looked up from his coffee to meet her eyes.

Once he got her attention he carefully and calmly said, "I think you should call your mom."

"Why?" she frowned. Clarke and Abby had a strained relationship. Abby wanted to connect with her daughter but Clarke spent most of the time ignoring her mom's phone calls. But in times of crisis Clarke depended on her mother's love to give her strength. And when she came to Abby for help and didn't exactly get what she was looking for, she went back to resenting her mother.

"Because I think it would be good if you had a lawyer. I don't know what's going to happen at this court date, but you need someone who knows the ropes and can get you out of this situation with nothing on your record. And I don't know about Finn, but you said that this Murphy guy was shady, so who knows what kind of shit he could pull on you."

She looked down and reluctantly admitted, "you make a good point."

"When have I ever not?" he smirked, wanting the atmosphere to be lighthearted, and she looked back up with a smile and a faint glint in her eye.

They finished their breakfast… snack, whatever you want to call it, and Bellamy got up to collect the dishes and deposit them carefully on the pile in the sink. He really needed to wash the dishes, or admit defeat and cut back on his spending to save up for a dishwasher.

"So what's the plan, Princess?" he called to her from the kitchen.

He waited for a reply but a while longer he turned around to see her at the table with her head in her hands. He came back to sit across from her and waited patiently.

He wasn't very patient.

"Clarke," he said.

"I don't know," she sighed. She closed her eyes and scrunched her face to the point that Bellamy feared she was going to cry. He tensed, pleading that she would know she was alright and that worst was behind her.

"I don't know where my keys are," she said shakily. She took a deep breath and tried again, "I need my keys to drive my car home from the bar and to get into my apartment. And they're either at the bar… or at Finn's place." Her nose scrunched slightly as her eyebrows drew together and her frown deepened

"Okay, so why don't we start at the bar?" he suggested lightly.

She nodded gratefully and got up, mumbling that she was going to the bathroom. He went back to his room to change into a pair of jeans and put deodorant on… and to check on the state of his hair, which desperately needed combing.

"Ready?" he called to Clarke cheerfully when he found her standing in the living room. He looked down to see that she was still wearing his sweats and t-shirt. _Well_ , he thought, upon realizing that she didn't have a change of clothes, the only options were for her to put her "spent the night in jail" outfit back on or wear what she had on. She followed his gaze and smirked, shrugging her shoulders, "guess I'm wearing this out; I'm sure it'll give Finn the impression that I'm more than okay without him."

"Hey," he shot back playfully, "my clothes are dope, the only problem is the wearer."

She glared at him, but Bellamy's grin only got wider. He turned and headed for the door, waving a hand over his shoulder in dismissal, "you can stay in the car."

* * *

 **AN:** Thanks for reading! Please review and let me know what you think, or just to say hi, that's fine too!

 **Ramblings:** Everyone has a different perspective when reading a story - because the author might have a certain picture in their mind and intend to communicate that idea to the audience, but there's a lot left to be interpreted by the reader, a lot of space between the lines for the reader's mind to imagine. "Everyone has their own reality," I guess is what I'm trying to say, but go back and read the previous sentence. This conversation however, is too philosophical for my mind to handle in the middle of the night; think about it for a second though.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN:** Happy Friday!Thank you for waiting for the update! **THIS IS THE END.** I'm mentioning it in the hopes that the chapter reads as a conclusion and comes to a suitable ending. This story was meant to be an extended one-shot, if one can call it that.

For those of you who started reading on May 5, and to those who just started today and made it this far, and to everyone in-between: **THANK YOU SO MUCH!** It's a nice complement to know you are enjoying the story, I certainly enjoyed writing it.

* * *

Back in his old rickety Jeep, or _vintage_ rickety Jeep as Bellamy liked to call it, they drove through town, heading for the bar. Bellamy was laid back in the driver's seat with one hand on the wheel, thrumming his fingers to the music, the other arm resting on the consol. Clarke on the other hand, was hugging her arms around her legs, bare feet on the seat, knees pulled up to her chest with her head buried in-between; appearing to Bellamy like a boulder, once fierce and charging down a cliffside with reckless abandon, and now at the bottom of a canyon, worn and weathered by the debris along the way, stoic and unassuming on the landscape.

They arrived at the bar and Bellamy got out the car and shut the door, leaving Clarke inside with the key in the ignition. He walked up to the entrance and pulled the heavy door open.

"It's a bit early to start drinkin'," a voice called from inside. Bellamy turned his head to see a man behind the bar wiping the surface with a rag. He came up to the counter and the man asked gruffly, "What'll you have?"

"Ah no, I'm not here to drink," Bellamy frowned, "I'm here to see if there was a pair of missing keys found last night."

"I can check in the back for you, but I doubt it," the man replied, "drunk people aren't exactly known for being reliable. The kind of stuff that winds up in our lost 'n found is cheap jewelry and fake IDs, a few wedding rings every now and then, if you know what I'm sayin'."

Bellamy waited at the bar while the man disappeared to wonder about the keys, but he came back emptyhanded and Clarke was unfortunately out of luck.

...

"Sorry, Princess," he said, getting back in the car, "no keys." Clarke groaned and Bellamy continued, "Plan B kinda sucks, but what choice do we have?"

He drove around intersections as Clarke gave him directions, and Bellamy put the radio on to try and ease her anxiety, but it didn't seem to be helping.

They reached their destination, a small apartment complex next to a business center, and Bellamy stepped out, leaving Clarke to wait restlessly in the car.

He took the elevator up to the fourth floor and walked down the hall till he found the apartment number Clarke gave him. He knocked on the door and waited. Like always, he wasn't feeling very patient, so he knocked again, the flimsy door rattling as he banged his fist against the chipped green paint. And then he heard the sound of the deadbolt being flipped and he wondered about the odds that it would be Finn answering the door – it was 50/50 he gathered, considering there was his roommate Murphy, and assuming that Raven, or anyone else, wasn't visiting.

It was Murphy, but Bellamy wondered if he, the so-called 'rat bastard', was really the better outcome. As he stood waiting to be invited inside, Murphy just looked at him, like he was assessing what kind of opponent he was up against. His eyes narrowed and he leaned his arm against the doorframe, blocking Bellamy's view of the interior.

"What?" he asked impatiently.

"Did Clarke leave her keys here last night?" Bellamy figured it was best to be straightforward with this guy.

"Don't know," he clipped dryly.

"Well," Bellamy said, trying to sound pleasant even though he was feeling anything but that, "can you look around for them?"

"I don't _know_ ," Murphy repeated sharply, "and I also don't _care_."

Bellamy squared his shoulders and faced off with the little rat in the doorway, rising to his full height so he could tower over Murphy, and moving his feet into a defensive stance. He stood strong and sturdy, and surged forward suddenly, managing to startle Murphy and shove him aside as he crossed over the threshold.

"Well, if you don't care, then you won't mind if I look around for them," he countered.

Murphy huffed and sauntered through the living room, disappearing into the hallway. Bellamy looked around the kitchen, seeing if Clarke left them on the counter, but no luck there. Wondering where someone would most likely lose their keys, he went to check in-between the couch cushions – _jackpot_. She must've just tossed them on the arm carelessly as she squared off with Finn. He grinned, twirling the keys on his finger triumphantly, happy to be the one to have found Clarke's belongings and be rewarded with a bright smile upon returning them to her. But first, he smirked, Bellamy had a different plan in mind.

...

He got into the car, closed the door, and buckled his seat belt before turning to face Clarke and sighing dramatically.

"Well…" he started but left the word hanging in the air. She looked at him expectantly, eyebrows raised, leaning forward slightly in anticipation. He left her waiting anxiously, eyes wide and body tense, for a while longer before he gave her a wicked smile and reached in his pocket, raising the keys to jangle before her.

"Tease," she grumbled, snatching the keys from him.

He smirked and started up the engine. Putting the car in drive, he turned to her and said, "ready to go, Princess?"

"Yeah," she sighed, leaning her head on the window, more at ease now that she had her keys secured in her hands.

...

The sun was just starting to set as they made their way down Henley Rd, shining brightly through the misty, transparent layer of cirrostratus clouds, whisping through the air as the wind stretched them apart - separating like cotton bolls being pulled into amorphous blobs of softness - thinning and blending together into a sheet composed of microscopic ice-crystals. A rich gradient of orange, pink, and yellow hues transformed the ozone-polluted troposphere into a sublime skyscape - a rare occurrence that effortlessly displayed the glory of nature, eliciting powerful emotions of awe and apprehension towards the enormity of it all. Long shadows emerged from the trees bordering the road and little pockets of light appeared between the leaves, dancing along with the shifting leaves as the wind whistled through them.

They had gone back to the bar to collect her car and Bellamy somehow managed to convince Clarke to let him follow her home in his Jeep. They arrived at her building sooner than he'd expected and he found himself wishing they could spend more time together before they separated to continue on with their usual lives. He reluctantly cut the engine and stepped out of the Jeep to walk her up to her room. They walked in hesitant silence, their hands brushing against each other. Clarke stalled at the door as she slowly unlocked the knob and flipped the deadbolt. Once she had it open, Bellamy figured it was time for him to leave. He stepped back, but before he could turn around she called out after him, "wait!" He turned his head and met her timid gaze with a similar expression.

"Don't you want your clothes back?" she asked, gesturing at her baggy attire.

He dismissed her with a wave of his hand, "nah, don't worry about it. The shirt's old and the pants don't even fit."

"Oh, okay," she nodded, still fidgeting in the doorway. She moved forward and wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him into a light embrace, and he reflexively hugged her back. She was soft and warm, and her hair tickled his nose when he turned to smell her head.

"Thank you," she whispered into his shoulder.

She pulled back and Bellamy felt as if she was tugging away a piece of himself. He wracked his brain trying to think of reasons not to say goodbye. She turned back to the door and pushed it open. He took a quick breath before calling after her softly, "do you want me to stay?"

"No, I'm ok," she answered quickly.

"Sure?" he raised his eyebrows even though she couldn't see his expression.

"Yeah," she sighed and turned over her shoulder to give him a reassuring smile.

"Alright" he said as she stepped through the threshold.

"Bye, Bellamy," she said closing the door behind her.

...

So he made his way back down the hall to the elevators and wondered what the time was. His conscience on the other hand, was wondering if she really would be okay on her own and whether or not he should leave. _Bingo_ , he tried to stifle the giddy smile that appeared on his face when he suddenly had an idea. He took his phone out of his pocket and tapped on the screen 'till he hit call.

After a few rings, Octavia's voice sounded through the phone, "Hey, Bell, what's up?"

"O, what are you doing tonight?"

"Hmmm… nothing really," she said.

"Get some movies and nail polish- whatever other stuff you do at a sleepover and come over to Clarke's," He said.

"Okay?" she wondered, dragging the word out in confusion, "but why are you telling me this and not Clarke?"

"Because she doesn't know," he explained, "Just go, O, she needs a friend, she needs you."

"Alright," she sounded hesitant and concerned, "what's going on Bell? Is she ok?"

"She's fine….," Bellamy paused in thought and corrected himself, "well, relatively fine, and it's not my story to tell."

"Wow, Bellamy being considerate," she teased, "there's something I thought I'd never see."

...

So Bellamy went back to his Jeep and headed home, trying to wrap his mind around the events of the past 24 hours that had completely wrecked his idea of having a normal weekend. He walked up to his door and went inside. He immediately noticed the table covered with mismatched plates and coffee cups from their breakfast and he turned to the kitchen to see a pile of dishes in the sink, waiting to be washed. He figured he'd get a drink and lounge on the couch for a while before he found something for dinner, but he went to his room first to grab his reading glasses. He glanced over at his bedside table, where he usually left them, before walked up to his desk and found the frames sitting next to a pile of partially graded mid-term essays. He groaned and rolled his neck to relieve the tension in his joints. _Here we go_ , he thought, _now this is a typical weekend, a Saturday night and you're alone in your room grading papers, that's the life of a graduate student_.

So he gathered up the papers and sank down onto his bed, figuring he could get through the rest within the next three hours, and then be done with it. Then, he would spend his Sunday doing absolutely nothing; that is until he got hungry and realized that he had no clean cutlery and he desperately needed to do the dishes.

His eyes scanned over the essay in front of him as he settled back onto his pillow. But soon after, he paused, having the vaguest notion that something felt…off. A crease formed between his eyebrows as he concentrated, trying to find just what was different. He breathed deeply and realized that the air smelt like flowers. He breathed in again and found that the aroma he was so captivated by was coming from the pillow beneath him. It was the one that Clarke had slept on last night, so the blossomy scent that permeated his senses and numbed his brain must've been her perfume. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply - the scent surrounding him in a blanket of soft, heady desire, his heart surging with longing, his muscles twitching with lust. He caught himself, eyes widening and body tensing as he rushed to sit up. What was he doing? No, Bellamy was _not_ going soft. He was _not_ going to snuggle up with his pillow and spend the night pining over his sister's best friend. Bellamy Blake did not get distracted by perfume, and he certainly wasn't going to pine after Clarke Griffin. He wasn't desperate, and it was up to Clarke to decide what she wanted, so he was content to be patient and wait for her to make the first move. Finn kind of snuck up on him, but after meeting him and sizing him up Bellamy snickered, realizing that this guy wasn't a threat. And just as he predicted, soon enough, Finn screwed up, big time. Of course Bellamy was upset that Clarke had to get hurt, but it wouldn't've been right for him to interfere, that would just push her further away. Clarke was independent and stubborn enough to accept the consequences of her actions, and fierce enough to deal with the lousy cards that life dealt her.

He sank back on the pillow and forced his mind to focus on the words of the essay he was reading and to not be distracted by the smell of Clarke around him. He had to reread the page a few times before he understood what he was reading, but finally he got it graded and flipped over to the next one. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket and pulled it out. He smiled, seeing that it was a text message from Clarke.

 **C: Thanks**

 **B: For what?** He smirked and feigned confusion, even though they both knew that Bellamy already knew the answer to his own question.

 **C: Octavia**

 **B: No problem, have fun.** He smiled knowing she was being comforted by just the person she needed.

Sighing deeply, he turned back to the essay in his hand. He read and reread the introduction, but the words weren't forming any coherent messages in his brain. Bellamy glared angrily at the paper, line after line, paragraph after paragraph of black text on stark white paper. Another typical college essay arguing for a new perspective on an ancient text that's been debated for centuries. He paused and considered the consequences of giving up on grading papers for the night. Now consequences, Bellamy smirked, have a negative connotation, but in actuality, a consequence can be any result, effect, outcome, or option – whether good or bad. He could quickly think of a few bad consequences, but he spent some time brainstorming the positive outcomes of his procrastination, a.k.a. - what he'd rather be doing instead. Choices… choices. He deliberated and upon making up his mind, flung the papers on the floor, they were now tomorrow's problem. He scooted down the bed to get under the covers and lay down, tossing his limbs around until he was comfy. Then he reached above his head to grab the pillow and pulled it to his chest, holding it close with his arms wrapped around the middle. Resting his cheek on the downy surface, he turned his nose into the pillow and breathed deeply and sighed. He figured he might as well make the most of it while her scent was still there to indulge in.

A few minutes later, his phone lit up with another text notification.

 **C: Night**

 **B: Night** He smiled and yawned, placing his phone on the bedside table and settled down to fall into a restful sleep.

* * *

 **AN: THANKS READERS, FOLLOWERS, FAVORITES, AND TO ALL WHO REVIEWED, IT WAS QUITE A JOURNEY.**

(I do have plans for another story)


	7. 7 AN

**AN:** If you're wondering why I didn't do this sooner, it was because I felt weird about it. But I've seen plenty of other authors leave plugs for their other stories and I'm gonna try and do my best. And I'm changing the rating to M, so it won't be as easy to spot when it's updated.

I know some readers were disappointed with my "ending" to The Phone Will Ring, and all I can say is that it was meant to be a one-shot. I just had the scene replaying in my head and when I started writing it down the word count got away from me. I didn't really think about what would happen next and I never made a plot to go with it. Aaaand I really wanted to start writing _this_ story - which I assure you does have a plot. So I'm really sorry if you were disappointed, but I hope you'll enjoy reading _this_ story. I just uploaded the third chapter.

 **The 100 Degree Summer**

It's been two years since Clarke spent the summer along the Redwood Coast in her family's beach house in Arcadia. It's been two years since her dad died. But she's determined not to let her grief stop her from having a great summer spent in the sunshine with Bellamy, Octavia, and her kru of friends. Small towns are known for spreading gossip, but the truth will come out eventually.

Special thanks to heidi1245401, Kayla720, Kikoo100, Tigger300, itoldyouso2718, and skwerlylls for already following the story, thank you!


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